Species
by darkangel1211
Summary: "I've been ordered to rescue the subject known as 221B for immediate extraction back to London. In this capacity, you don't have any authority over me. Next?" Catlock AU - Full Summary Inside - WIP - Uploaded 26/05/14


Species

Full Summary:

_"I've been ordered to rescue the subject known as 221B for immediate extraction back to London. In this capacity, you don't have any authority over me. Next?" _

_"Sherlock Holmes."_

_"Pardon?" John can't have heard that. He just can't. Because that would be a whole new level of wrong right there._

_The man opens his eyes again, glaring at John beneath his fringe with his ears lowered. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. That enough authority for you, Doctor?"_

_Well, shit._

**A/N: Welcome to my version of Catlock!**

**Inspiration goes to the Catlock all over my tumblr at the moment because Catlock rocks! **

**(To my readers who may be worrying about Perihelion if they see this - part 13 is almost done! Just one last scene to go! Writer's block is a bitch so thank you for your patience! xxx)**

**Enjoy! **

Part One

There are lots of things John can't stand. Like waiting in the queue at Tesco's, because that's a downright pain in the arse no matter which way you look at it. Having to visit the local clinic so he can get the pain meds for his shoulder (even though he's an army doctor and perfectly within his rights to prescribe them himself), but unable to now because of the new laws that came in just before he was shot. Yes, all these things are a nuisance and sent to try him, but, right now, the only thing really grating on his nerves is the yowling.

It's almost a constant presence every time he walks around the edge of another cage in the warehouse, piercing into his skull when one is particularly high pitched. Give him snarls, growls and hisses any day. Just stop the bloody yowling.

Granted, it's not as ear piercing as some of the sounds he's heard here, and it's actually the teeth that give him the shivers. The length of the canines varies between the species but the teeth are certainly sharp enough to cause injury if one of them manages to get a hold of you. John's been lucky enough to avoid that particular trauma.

He still eyes the barred cages warily, originally used to enclose animals in a circus, and checks the doors held closed by mechanisms that can only be opened from the outside. The doors themselves are weighed down to prevent any chances of escape, but he doesn't doubt for a second that, given the opportunity, they are petty obstacles to the animals inside. But it's not only the doors that the animals have to contend with.

John can already see it happening to this one. Stopping outside one of the cages, he peers inside at its occupant and notes how the animal doesn't even lift its head to snarl at him. Even in the poor light from the hanger, John can see it's curled up on its side facing the door, limbs brought in to protect itself as it shudders on the wooden floor. The animal has enough fur to keep it warm (it must have been part of the new batch) and there's a loose section of cloth wrapped around its hips, but it's not trembling because it's cold. He can't go near it for obvious reasons, but it's pretty apparent that the thing is riddled with fever.

"Is it dead yet?"

John doesn't take his eyes away from the creature, not even when the man (David, he thinks), comes to a stop on his right side. "Not yet."

David growls something inhospitable. "Fucking things. This one'll pollute the whole bloody line."

"Shame that this one is the most valuable," John says, stepping back from the cage to look David in the eye. The man looks gruffer than he sounds; your typical black market trader with the end of a cigarette dangling between his lips. "If we don't get some meds into him soon he'll die and take a sizable portion of your profits with him."

"Why?" David peers into the cage, eyes hungrily taking in the creature as if the secret will materialise in front of him. "What is he?"

John looks back into the cage, surprised that, for a dealer, David doesn't already know. From this angle he can see the fur which lines the top of the arms, the whole of the legs, back and tail and the fur across the nape of the neck. The chest and stomach don't have fur generally, but the groin and buttocks do, along with a protective pouch for the genitals of the male which only protrude for mating. Judging from the colour of the fur he's guessing _Panthera Uncia, _but the ears don't match so it's probably a mixed breed. Mixed breeds aren't unusual, are even actively encouraged by their human collectors, but this one is different. "I'm not entirely sure," he says, "but I have my suspicions. It's why I need to get in there; see if I can fix him up."

David looks back at him, glancing up and down John's body, and John knows he's being sized up. "Pfssh, be my guest," David says disparagingly, hands slipping into his leather jacket and pulling out another cigarette and his lighter as he spits the old dog-end on the floor. "Should I evacuate the hanger?" he says. "Barricade you inside until it's done tearing you to pieces?"

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," John says, ignoring the barbs and kneeling down beside to the door to open his med kit, debating the use of a tranquillizer. Given the way the creature looks right now, it probably wouldn't survive a single dart. "You'd better clear the area," he says, looking over his shoulder at David. "I can't risk tranquillising it and I don't want anyone else getting hurt if this goes wrong."

David shrugs. "You're the doctor," and hollers, "Clear out!" once, twice, hearing the answering calls of the other men assigned to this job and the great, squealing racket of the hanger door being pushed open. "Tricky business, this," he says, watching as John finishes checking his med kit. "Remember I hired you to do a job. You'd better not fuck this up for me, you hear?"

John looks back into the cage at the animal inside, dismissing David's warning; the dealer isn't the only one who can handle himself in a fight. "Yeah, I hear you. Now kindly get the fuck out and let me do it." David has the gall to laugh at that, taking another drag and flicking the ash as he leaves, his shoes echoing on the floor. John breathes a sigh of relief at the other man's retreat and does up his med kit, assessing his options as he takes in the animal's present condition.

David isn't the only one with a job to do.

oOo

_Three weeks earlier_

"Dr John Watson?"

The voice is a new one he hasn't heard before, feminine, with a faint rolling trill at the pronunciation of the O in his first name as he walks to the counter in the pharmacy. His cane clicks alongside him as he turns to look at the woman standing off to one corner and he can definitely say he's intrigued. They very rarely address humans with their titles, although it's probably because of the lack of titles in their own language and their minimal regard for them as a result. The title is only a specification of role for them. Not a status symbol.

She's pretty, this one. Long auburn hair with faint curls at the ends. Caucasian descent, he guesses, with traces of Bombay given the colour of the fur on her ears, around her neck and on the tail he can see curling and flicking behind her. Normally he wouldn't give it a second thought in attempting to ask her out, but he can see from the way her bright yellow eyes are focussed on the screen of her blackberry that she's here on business. The fact that she knows who he is at all suggests there is something more at work here.

"Yes?" he asks, keeping his distance as he waits for her to make the first move. Just because the actual domestic version loves attention, it still depends on the human side of the equation and he doesn't want to inadvertently step on any social boundaries.

"My employer has expressed an interest in you for work," she says, her eyes flicking up and seizing his in an unwavering focus. Her tone is teasing, slightly flirtatious, and John is torn between deciding if this is because she's actually interested or if it's because she needs him to come along. "Don't worry about your medication. I have taken the liberty of picking it up for you," and the bag hangs from one artfully clawed finger.

Well, it not as if his shoulder is hurting him at the moment and she already had him with that playful smile, the tips of her canines just showing on her lower lip, so why the hell not? It's not as if he's already got a job. "Lead the way," he says with his own smile and follows behind her to the black car which has just pulled up outside the pharmacy, showing no hesitation at all in climbing in the back with her and shutting the door.

oOo

_Present day_

Assessment completed, John takes a minimal amount of comfort in the knowledge that he was right from the start. The man in the cage is unable to support his own weight and hasn't looked at him once, but John doesn't know if the fever has done enough that the man won't put up a fight. A dangerous gamble given the nature of the species, but the choice is out of his hands. If the man wants to live, he will have to submit to treatment.

John walks away from the door and to the side closest to where the man's head is, watching as the ears twitch towards his direction; awareness, but not fear. Not yet. He can feel eyes burning their way into the back of his skull and he knows he's being watched by the others in their cages. The air is very still; they want to hear what he has to say. "I know you can hear me," he says, crouching down so he's almost at the man's level. "I need you listen very carefully."

Lay out the scene; prepare the patient for the treatment to come. No nasty surprises here.

"I need to treat you for your illness but I can't do that out here," he says, keeping his voice low and gentle. He's hoping it sounds as persuasive as he needs it to be. "I have no guarantee that you won't attack me the minute I open the cage, but I'm hoping that your will to survive is stronger than your instinct to fight. I'm asking you to let me help you."

The ears twitch again, the long, dark hairs at the pointed tips swaying in the air with each movement, and the move is too orchestrated to be just an itch, even with the almost constant shuddering. It's not an acceptance, but at least it's an acknowledgement that John's been heard. It will have to do for now.

Taking a deep breath, John walks around to the controls next to the door, taking another look at the man inside before steeling his nerves and hitting the switch. The metal creaks loudly as the door is pulled from the ground, giving John access to the captive inside and any inherent dangers that come with him. The cage is high enough that he doesn't need to crouch to get inside it and he slowly inches his way past the door, aware of the fact that he is entering the man's territory. It may be a cage and forced imprisonment to boot, but it doesn't take away the fact that John is now in owned space.

The man doesn't move from his position as John inches towards him, giving him ample time to voice any concerns over John's proximity before he gets within range. Nothing comes and John kneels down next to his patient, placing his med kit down beside him. "I need to check you for injuries after I give you an injection for the fever," he says. "This means I will need to physically examine you, but you need to let me know if you experience any discomfort. Okay?"

Another ear flick; apparently this is all John's going to get.

Before he begins, he holds his hand out towards where the man's face is. He can't see it right now because the man has buried his face in his arms, but John knows that this shouldn't impede the sense of smell. It's a small gesture; the man knows what he sounds like and now he knows John's scent. John knows he's unwashed and unkempt but strong man-made fragrances are a bad idea. Better to have his own natural body odour rather than the latest Lynx product.

He spots it a moment later, the deep inhale which pushes the man's chest out, followed by another ear flick and a quiet rumble on the exhale. It takes John a second to realise that the rumbling isn't a growl; it's the beginning of a purr.

Well, that's interesting.

It ends almost as soon as it begins but it's enough to get John started in earnest. He fishes out the equipment from his bag that will treat the fever and approaches the man's head, gently taking hold of one wrist and pulling it towards him. The action is allowed, the limb held poised but manoeuvrable by its owner as John presses his thumb into the indent of the elbow, searching for the main vein. There aren't any growls from the man when John carefully inserts the needle and the medicine is administered without incident, to John's immediate relief. Needles are often a prickly affair, in every sense of the word.

He approaches the back of the man after he packs his medical supplies and decides to begin with the legs, pressing his hands lightly to the hip joints and running his hand down the furred length of them. A closer inspection is made of the knee and ankle joints, rotating as much as the bones will allow and checking for any sprains which may have occurred during capture. Unlike humans, the ankle joints are very much like an undersized version of the hind legs on normal cats, allowing the species to sprint on all fours if needed, but John hasn't seen it happen since his return to England.

Onto the paws now and they are massive, bigger than John's hand. The claws are permanently extended and measure an inch long; a gentle stroke along each one confirms that they are not cracked or fractured and are very sharp. It's enough for John to know that this one takes care of himself. The metatarsal and digital pads on the bottom of the paws are also checked for any cuts or splits but the pads are slightly springy to the touch and there aren't any signs of infection that John can see. So far so good.

As he continues, John makes sure he says what he's doing at each point so he doesn't inadvertently startle his patient and the legs are soon completed. He begins to check the tail, starting at the base of the man's spine and feeling the bones as he slides down its length, long enough that it will reach the man's ankles when he's upright. The fur needs a good washing, but John's willing to bet his army pension that it's one of the fluffy sort, given the thick denseness of the strands from base to tip.

John pauses for a moment after he finishes with the tail, giving the man some breathing space. Although he's seems as relaxed as possible, the more difficult bit is yet to come and, being at the sharper end, John's not willing to take any chances.

Unbidden, a growling rumble emits from the man's chest and the tail by John's legs begins to flick at the tip. It's a bit stereotypical but it gets the point across. John isn't meant to stop.

As the examination continues, the growling ceases and the man moves his head, exposing his face for the first time since John has seen him. Half-hidden by the shock of dark curls on the man's head, John can still see the outline of a strong jaw from where he's sitting and a faint glimmer of teeth when the man partly opens his mouth, exposing the fangs and the sharpness of the teeth between them. It's a small display but still effective; not a display to threaten, merely a reminder that he is stronger than John and the treatment is happening only because he's allowing it. Not that John needs any reminders.

Hands now. These are more human-like with four fingers and a thumb, all except for the claws and pads which closely mirror the ones on the feet. On the wrist John can feel the additional carpal pad which allows for traction and it too is free from infection.

All in all, John can say that he is genuinely surprised. Apart from the fever, something which will need to be closely monitored to ensure it doesn't progress any further, the man is in remarkably good health. More often than not, John has had to treat a wide array of injuries on the captives, including lacerations, broken bones and gun shots, and it's not clear why this one has no injuries to speak of. He feels he should ask the question but it's not his job to pry anyhow.

"Would you shut up?"

A deep, smoothly cultured voice seems to echo in the silence that meets the question, each word carefully tinged with a rolling vibration; John certainly wasn't expecting that. "I'm sorry?"

The man turns his face towards John and a faint glimmer of colour can be seen as the man half opens his eyes, a streak of pale blue flirting with green glaring at him down a human nose. "You're distracting me. It's annoying."

John sits back on his heels as the man moves away from him, all traces of shuddering disappearing as though it never existed. He props himself up against the bars and watches John through his curls, resting his arms on his knees. "I wasn't aware I was speaking," John says and the man narrows his eyes, mouth set into a firm pout.

"You've not stopped nattering since you arrived. Now, if you don't mind, who the bloody hell sent you?"

"Sent me?" John looks towards the cage door to check they're alone. He's not about to have his cover blown, not when he's gotten this far.

"Oh of course," the man says, closing his eyes and knocking the back of his head against a bar. "It was Mycroft wasn't it." It's not a question. "Stupid, stupid. Never did learn when to keep his big nose out."

"I'm sorry?"

The man opens his eyes again. "Why do you keep saying that?"

"Well, I…" John frowns. "I don't understand. That's why. What happened to your fever?"

The man's lips curl and John's not entirely sure whether it's meant to be a smile or a grimace. Probably a little of both. "Like that bit of acting did you?"

At that, John can't help but splutter. "Acting? For God's sake, I've just given you medication for it!"

The man waves a hand in dismissal. "I seriously doubt it will cause any adverse side effects. Onto more important matters. Mycroft sent you to extract me, didn't he?"

"Well… yes." John's also not sure when he became this readable. Does he have 'Rescuer' stamped to his forehead or something?

"Forget your orders," the man says and his voice brooks no argument. "You'll be working for me now."

John sits back on his haunches, regarding the man with a curious eye and deciding to throw caution to the wind. "I've been ordered to rescue the subject known as 221B for immediate extraction back to London. In this capacity, you don't have any authority over me. Next?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Pardon?" John can't have heard that. He just can't. Because that would be a whole new level of wrong right there.

The man opens his eyes again, glaring at John beneath his fringe with his ears lowered. "My name is Sherlock Holmes. That enough authority for you, Doctor?"

_Well, shit._

TBC


End file.
